


twinkle

by Caitybug, pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Constellations, Explicit Sexual Content, Flying, Flying Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mile High Club, Stars, but simon's dragon bits are important to this fic so you're welcome, i can't believe flying sex is already a tag but also i can, there's so many references and metaphors im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: The only thing clear about tonight is the swell in my chest when I watch Simon swoop down over the treetops, wings beating powerfully as he makes a sharp turn. Thank Crowley for my heightened sight; I can make out the individual bones in those mighty wings, the way his curls get tousled by the wind, and the grin split across his face.Simon Snow is a vision.--AKA, The One With The Mile High Club
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 15
Kudos: 121





	twinkle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twokisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/gifts).



> this is my (very belated) birthday present for [twokisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses)
> 
> hap birth may, i'm sorry this is late, but i love you so much! you're so special and important, i'm so glad to have you in my life, even if i will never understand when your waking hours are 😂 you are a delight, a star, an irreplaceable piece of my heart 💙
> 
> many, many thank to [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) for beta-reading! 
> 
> AND A REALLY BIG HUGE THANK YOU TO [Caitybug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug/works) FOR CO-WRITING SOME SMOOT WITH ME. i got very stuck with this one and i don't know that i would've finished it as quickly if it weren't for caity stepping in and writing, like, nearly half of this. 😂 their brilliant additions to the end made this *chefs kiss* so much better

**BAZ**

It’s dark, nothing lighting up the night except for the sliver of moon peeking out over us. Stars twinkle among the wisps of clouds, in and out of my field of vision.

The only thing clear about tonight is the swell in my chest when I watch Simon swoop down over the treetops, wings beating powerfully as he makes a sharp turn. Thank Crowley for my heightened sight; I can make out the individual bones in those mighty wings, the way his curls get tousled by the wind, and the grin split across his face.

Simon Snow is a _vision_.

He goes around again and his eyes sweep the area, until they land on me. He smiles even wider, somehow, and it’s breathtaking even from this distance. I watch him glide through the air. He’s so bright, even in the dark of night; he makes the stars look dull.

He lands in front of me, the wind off his wings blowing my hair back and taking my breath with it. Or maybe that’s just my reaction to seeing Simon so _happy_. He loves flying, says it makes him feel free. It’s written eight different ways across his face.

It’s cold out, until Simon’s inches away and his wings are slowly enclosing around me. Around _us_.

“Hey,” he whispers, moving even closer, until I can feel his breath on my cheek. He’s still three inches below me, so I tilt my head down and bump our noses together. He tilts up until our lips brush.

I turn away from the kiss, speak softly against the top of his cheek. “I’ve just fed.”

“I figured.” He goes for my mouth again and I laugh, pulling my head back.

“On _blood_ , Simon.”

“Right, I’m well aware of what your vampire diet entails, love.” He kisses my jaw. “I don’t care. Please let me kiss you.”

I hesitate for a second, but then I do.

I try not to think about what I must taste like. I’ve just drained a doe, but Simon’s licking into my mouth like it’s a freshly buttered scone. (And I’m trying not to question why the thought of him tonguing a scone gets me hot and bothered.)

_I suppose the answer is_ everything _he does gets me hot and bothered._

“Baz,” Simon sighs against my lips, pulling back and pressing his forehead to mine. His breath is warm on my face; I can still smell the pasta sauce from dinner as he whispers. “Can I show you the stars?”

“What do you mean?”

Simon nudges my nose with his own, bumps his forehead against mine, then tilts his head up and gestures for me to follow suit. I do, looking up at the night stretched above us. The clouds are slowly rolling out, leaving a sky of inky blackness fully dotted with stars behind.

“You wanted me to look up?” I look back at him. Even on a beautiful night like this, I’d prefer to look at him. His skin’s freckled with more constellations than the sky could hold.

Simon’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me in until we’re pressed together. He leans in, so close his lips brush over my ear. “Want a closer look?”

I don’t have time to answer before Simon’s kicking off from the ground, wings beating down around us and catching the air, lifting us both off the ground. I cry out, surprised, and fling my arms around his neck and my legs over his hips, aiming for the firmest hold on him I could possibly have.

Simon _laughs_ , because making your boyfriend fear for his life is apparently the pinnacle of comedy. I’d be angrier, but the sound soaks into my skin before being carried off by the wind. It’s warm against the side of my face, little puffs of air that skirt by and leave gooseflesh in their wake. I shiver, though I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to Simon or the quickly dropping temperature as Simon takes us higher.

His wings beat behind him, forceful and firm, and his shoulder blades flex with the movement under my palms. I’ve always been fascinated by his wings, done my fair share of exploring the lengths of them and the sensitive points where they sprout from his back, but I’ve never seen them like _this_. Up close and in action.

I let my fingertips dance over that spot where his wing meets his back; where texture changes and nerve endings ignite. He shivers as I touch him, and a moment later his lips are on my neck. He’s humming against my skin and one of his hands slips down to squeeze my arse. It startles me and makes me buck my hips, which alerts me to an all too familiar problem.

“You ever heard of the… _wotsit_? Uh… shit.”

I snort. “Fairly sure I’ve heard of that.”

Simon pinches my arse and I yelp, jerk in his hold, and then groan when my erection rubs against him.

“I forgot the word for it—but the thing, th-the, like, group? Where you have sex on airplanes?”

“What on Earth are you on about, Snow?” I tilt my head back so I can look at him, brow raised. He growls, because he knows I know _exactly_ what he’s on about.

“Fuck it, do you wanna get off is what I’m trying to ask, Baz.” He ducks his head back down to mouth at my neck, nip at my earlobe.

“Right now?” I ask, trying to convince myself _not_ to look down. I look down anyway, the ground so far below us that I start to feel dizzy and tighten my hold on Simon. (It doesn’t help the situation between us.) “That doesn’t seem…”

“Come on, darling. Let me make you see stars while I show you the stars, or… something.”

I huff out a laugh. “You’ve truly got a way with words, Simon.”

Simon huffs, “Arse.”

“Kiss me and I’ll think about it,” I murmur.

He does. They’re hungrier this time, _needier_. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, sucks on it before letting go and giving my top one the same treatment. I moan into his mouth and he swallows it. I’m the predator here, but Simon’s trying to devour me.

I slide my wand out of my sleeve, whispering a spell under my breath to keep us out of sight. We’re far away from any prying eyes, out in the middle of the forest, but I’m paranoid. And when one of his hands creeps between us and starts undoing my flies, I let him.

Until he misses a beat, as if he’s forgotten we’re flying, and we drop a few meters in the air. His arms come back around me and I cling to him, feel like my heart’s about to fall out of my arse.

“Shit, sorry! Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes profusely, punctuating each one with a kiss to my jaw, cheek, temple, wherever he can reach.

“Maybe…” I’m about to suggest we keep our sex lives on the ground, but when I look at Simon’s face, his cheeks flushed and pupils blown…

“Maybe you should just focus on flying,” is what I say instead. I move one hand from his shoulder, cautiously. “And holding onto me. If you drop me, I _will_ drain you.”

“Is that a promise?” Simon’s giving me a wicked smile and I roll my eyes, even though the suggestion alone sparks something in me. I’m disturbed, and I’m starting to suspect Simon is, too. (He’s asked me to bite him before, and I said no. I’m afraid he’s going to keep asking, keep making suggestive comments about it, and I won’t be able to resist forever.)

I kiss him again; it’s an effective way to clear my head. I slip my hand between us, undoing my flies much more efficiently than Simon had been. _And_ we’re staying airborne, which is a plus. I feel his tail join the party, wrapping around my calf, the tip pressing firmly against my ankle.

Simon finally breaks the kiss when I reach into his trackies, and he shifts his hips until I’m able to push the waistband down and free his cock. He presses his face into my neck, groaning into my skin as I stroke him.

One of his hands moves, no longer holding onto my waist, and I try not to panic. He lifts his head and grabs my wrist, pulling my hand up to his face.

It’s sweet when he presses a kiss into the heel of my hand, I almost melt quite honestly. Then he’s spitting into my palm and completely destroying the moment. He grins up at me, guiding my hand right back down to its previous position.

“Sorry, love.” He kisses my cheek. “Bit dry.”

“You’re disgusting,” I tell him. “I’m a mage, you know.”

“You love it.”

I wrap my hand around him again in lieu of arguing, mostly because I can’t. His head drops back onto my shoulder, puffs of breath hitting my neck through his parted lips.

I let him sit in my hand for a moment, let myself indulge in the reality of him, hard and wanting. It’s always nice to feel it, to _know_ he wants me. That despite everything about us, any hardships we’ve gone through, any fights we’ve had, he _wants_ this. (Me. He wants _me._ )

He kisses my neck in a desperate attempt to get me to move. Teeth graze the sensitive skin, making me take in a sharp breath. I wait another moment before I do move, wondering how we got here—countless meters in the air. (I try not to think about just _how_ many it might be.)

I apply more pressure to him, letting my hand move to his tip—memorizing every ridge I graze and every movement, however slight, he makes as I do.

Simon lets out a gasp, moving his head to my shoulder, letting his teeth dig into my skin. I don’t mind. (I never do.)

He sounds magickal like this—breathing into me as I continue to move, going farther down his length again, _slowly_. (I know he wants a faster pace—but I want him to _really_ feel it.) (If we’re going to make love among the stars, I want it to be memorable.)

“You don’t have to try to be quiet,” I tell him. We’re so high, it would take more than the sounds of our pleasure to reach the ground. (And we’re hidden, no one would ever know it was _us_.)

He laughs in response. “Guess you’re right.” He kisses the spot he was biting, soothing the marks on my skin.

He lets out another swear as I drag my hand back to his tip.

“Baz,” he gasps as I twist on the way back down. “Baz I—”

A moan cuts him off.

I can’t tell if it’s the sounds he’s making, the elevation and potential lack of oxygen to my brain, or just his stupidity rubbing off on me, but I move my other hand to him, letting him (and my sense of security) go as I do so. I tighten my legs around his waist, praying to every football practice that my core can handle this kind of strain. I reach further, to his bollocks, trying to give him more sensation, to make him feel _everything_. (He feels so _full_ here.)

He holds onto me tighter and I know I’ll be okay. I’m not unsafe or in danger. (Not with him.) (Never with him.)

Simon Snow, infuriating mess that he is, will catch me if I fall. (He already has.)

“I want to touch you, too,” he murmurs in my ear. I can feel him getting closer, hear him panting as his arousal grows.

I’m not without friction, I’ve been slowly moving against us, trying to give myself _anything_.

“Please,” he begs. I pause for a moment, curious how we’ll accomplish staying in the air without holding on to each other. (I feel the fear strike into me for a moment—but it’s quickly squashed as he moves into my hand again.) (Another me would be embarrassed to see how quickly I drop my inhibitions—but I’m much too turned on to care.)

I let go of him, reaching for myself. He protests, weakly, until he realizes what I’m doing.

“I think I can take care of us both, Simon,” I say.

I wrap my hand around our cocks, looking into his eyes. They’re sparkling, completely taken over by pupils wide with arousal.

There’s a whole sky above us, filled with stars and stories. An entire universe, but all I can manage to look at are his eyes. _That’s_ where my universe lies. In those eyes made of an ocean’s worth of blue. In the body of a boy covered in freckles, made of forces stronger than stars, laying out like the sky he so desperately wanted to show me tonight.

(Simon Snow, don’t you realize you hold the stars?)

What’s that quote about people being made of star stuff? Simon must have gotten extra, full as he is of stars and life.

I move my hand around us, feeling the added friction of his cock against me, and I lose all other thought.

(It’s just him and me. Universe be damned, this is where I’ll always want to be.)

His fingers slide into my hair, eyes still fixed on mine.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, reverence and adoration dripping from his words. He leans down and kisses my cheek, wrapping one arm around my waist. He tugs at one of my wrists, moving my hand from where we’re joined and placing it on his waist, encouraging me to hold on tighter. “Even the stars can’t compete with you.”

I hold back a laugh, realizing that we’re having the same thought. “Simon, you’re an idiot.”

He moves, making my laugh catch in my throat—letting other sounds and sensations take over instead. We dissolve into grunts, words only escaping to say _yes_ , or _fuck_.

It’s good. (It’s always _so_ _good_.)

“Simon I—” I groan, getting closer. He nods, knowing. “Please—”

_Please what?_

Please keep going?

(Please don’t drop me?)

“I love you,” he says against my lips. I feel something release in my chest. (Is that what I was asking for?)

I open my mouth to reply, but it catches around another groan. ( _Fuck, I’m close._ )

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Simon repeats his words like a mantra, determined to write our love against the sky, even while he comes, warm and wet and throbbing between us.

_I love you, I love you..._

His wings beat harder, bringing us higher in the air, moving faster against me. I bring my hands to his shoulders, to his face—cupping his cheeks.

“Come on, love,” he mutters.

One, two, three more pulls and I’m clutching him tighter—not out of safety, but out of need. Out of release.

(I think, ironically enough, that I see stars on my eyelids.)

He kisses my cheek, working me through my orgasm, letting me melt into his arms. I feel wind in my hair, and the similar sensation of us dropping closer to the ground.

Simon lets his feet touch down first, landing softly and letting me stay wrapped around his hips as long as he can. (It’s awkward, but we manage a quick shimmy of our clothes, trying to keep _some_ decency intact.)

“Did you like that?” He asks, walking us back to the car. “Seeing the stars, that is.”

I kiss his shoulder, letting my eyes close. “Simon, you’re made of stars—there’s a whole universe laid out on your skin.”

He chuckles to himself. (I don’t usually let that bit escape the inner corridors of my thoughts.)

“I mean it,” I mumble, kissing his neck. (No point in backing off now.) “The sky on your skin, stars lying in each freckle and mole—the sun shining back at me in your eyes.” I lean back to look in his eyes. He freezes for a moment, searching me for an answer. (It’s so bright, the way he looks at me.) (Could blind a man if they’re not careful.) “You’re brighter than anything the sky could hold, Simon.”

He blinks. “Baz—”

“I love you,” I interrupt. “Now, please, take me home. I need a shower and sleep.”

His mouth stays open for another moment before breaking into a small smile. His legs move again, carrying me closer to the car.

When we climb in, Simon takes the keys and starts the ignition. (That’s new, he’s got a full license and everything.)

I watch the sky as we drive off, stars glinting in the distance and moon shining light on all the trees.

They’re bright and lovely.

I turn my head to look at Simon.

They’ll never have an _ounce_ on the beauty contained in _him_.


End file.
